Everything in this city was perfectly and blessedly peculiar, Roderigo thought to himself, still bemused by how different Cyprus was from Venice. He had never been quite so far from home; he was sure of it. Truly, if it hadn't been for...her, Roderigo didn't think he ever would have left. It had always been his plan to stay in Venice for all of his life, marry a lovely Venetian woman, and spend the rest of their days together in a proper Venetian house. He had never taken into account that the lovely Venetian woman in question would ever leave the city of his birth and his allegiance. Of course, he had also never taken into account that the lovely Venetian woman with whom he fell in love would marry some foul barbarian.
Certainly, Cyprus was strange! They all spoke some foreign language that Roderigo thought he might have been tutored in at some point, but had since forgotten. They all dressed in a different style of clothing. The buildings were simpler, the houses less extravagant; clearly this city was no bustling hub of urbanity as Venice was, and consequently, Roderigo felt out of place.
His false beard, which he had donned in order to disguise himself, didn't do much to help the fact, either, for it was too itchy and made Roderigo feel outlandish. Iago had insisted that no one would be able to recognize him with the false beard, however, because "anyone who yet knows you, Roderigo, knows that if you were faced with the task of growing your own beard, you would be invariably incapable of doing so, and therefore, with a beard, no one will even suspect that you are you". It was not a compliment (Roderigo was not fool enough to overlook that), but sadly, it was truth. Roderigo knew it for certain-he had attempted the task beforehand in slighted indignity, before realizing that Iago was right and abashedly deciding to go along with the original suggestion.
At present, Roderigo was, most unfortunately, lost. It was not anything particularly new, as Roderigo had often found that he was somewhat directionally challenged, and in a place so bizarre and so far from his own home, it was to be expected. But now Roderigo had lost track of his steps, and he was no longer sure of the location of the inn at which he had been staying. It was a long time until nightfall, certainly, but he would rather find his bearings sooner than later and avoid having to roam about at night where there might be thieves or scoundrels hiding in the dark… Indeed, Roderigo did not trust this peculiar city.
After some guideless wandering, Roderigo sighed and stopped where he stood, scratching his fake beard in mild distress. He had no idea where he was, truly. He shrugged to himself and looked about.
Some paces away, there stood a quaint little house. It was very nice-looking, and Roderigo cocked his head slightly as he looked at it, causing his blond locks to sway with the motion. Surely there could be no harm in such a delightfully charming little house… Something about it was quite inviting; it almost seemed to beckon toward him. Perhaps there was someone inside who could give him directions...provided that whoever it was knew how to speak a language he could actually understand.
Ah, well. There was no harm in it. Roderigo approached the lovely little house in long-legged stride and knocked on the humble door.